Verses written by Mr. Burke, a Delegate from North Carolina, and Miss — of Philadelphia.

Gentleman's Magazine 48 (April, May 1778) 184, 231.

Thomas Burke

A Philadelphia eclogue in 45 anapestic quatrains, dated June 1777. Here the pastoral ballad mode is used in a dialogue on the war, connecting its theme of simplicity with Quaker (and feminine) distaste for military aggression. Colin, a member of the Continental Congress and disciple of Thomas Paine, declares that he must set aside all harmonious thoughts in order to prosecute the war against Britain: "In vain then, fair Chloe, my hand would assay | To awake to soft concord the lyre; | Each string vibrates war, ev'ry sound bids away, | These times other efforts require." With an appeal to Aesop, Chloe (evidently a Philadelphia Quaker) argues in favor of Christian pacifism: "Simplicity then shall erect her domain, | Whose peaceful and innocent smiles, | Captivating the heart of each nymph and each swain, | Put the serpent to flight with his wiles." When Colin professes to be overcome by her song, Chloe appeals to a higher authority.

Thomas Burke (1747 ca.-1783), born in County Galway in Ireland, emigrated to Virginia before settling in North Carolina in 1771, where he practiced law and advocated radical political reforms. He served in Congress from 1776 to 1781, and was governor of North Carolina from 1781 to the Spring of 1782. The concluding line seems to associate him with his countryman Edmund Burke, who had been supporting the American cause in Parliament. The Gentleman's Magazine may have reprinted this poem from an American periodical.

TO CHLOE.
You ask me, fair Chloe, to strike the gay lyre,
Once more to attempt the soft strain;
Alas! long neglected has slept ev'ry wire,
And I strive to attune them in vain.

The time is no more when a virgin's bright eyes
And sweet smiles could gay transport impart;
No more from fair bloom those emotions arise,
Which once so enchanted my heart.

While freedom and peace blest each sylvan retreat,
And secur'd every bliss to the swain;
How jocund the woodlands the song did repeat,
While beauty inspir'd the soft strain.

Now tyrant Ambition extends his dire arm,
And threats our free land to enslave,
No music is heard but the drum's hoarse alarm,
No song but the dirge of the grave.

No more soft emotions become each firm breast;
To these fiercer passions succeed,
Indignation for rapine, and beauty distress'd,
And vengeance for brothers who bleed.

Hence stretch out each arm to grasp the long lance,
These fill every bosom with rage,
These impel even shepherds in arms to advance,
These, these ev'ry soul must engage.

In vain then, fair Chloe, my hand would assay
To awake to soft concord the lyre;
Each string vibrates war, ev'ry sound bids away,
These times other efforts require.